title
by victortor
Summary: In a world where every word you write on your skin appears on your soulmate's as well, Nyx Ulric's left arm hasn't been blank for decades.


In a world where every word you write on your skin appears on your soulmate's as well, Nyx Ulric's left arm hasn't been blank for decades.

It's a funny thing, really, how much value people put into the whole soulmate crap, that having a soulmate guarantees a perfect love life, Nyx thinks. There are no absolutes in life, ever. Haven't people learned by now?

When she had still been alive, his sister had chattered on and on about when her soulmate would be born, and how wonderful it would be to exchange secret words with them, just for the two of them. She would doodle on her legs and arm every chance she got, waiting for the day her soulmate would write something back.

Well, none of that is important now, he supposes. Today is a special today.

Nyx has always taken considerable care to show as little skin as possible. With the Glaive and their communal showers, he would go days without cleaning himself if he had to. He was the only one in his unit to refuse to change in front of others. If his clothing got ruined, he wore bandages over his limbs.

It was stupid, and everyone else knew it. Libertus laughed at him, "I've seen you naked when we were kids, Nyx! What's the matter with you; gone prudish in your old age?" And Crowe would always roll her eyes in annoyance whenever he shooed them out of his room so he could get into his uniform.

"You haven't got anything I haven't seen," She snapped, once. "What's this all about, anyway? Despite what Libertus says, I know you're not the shy type."

Nyx hadn't given her proper answer, really. Just mumbled some excuse about his soulmate always writing some embarrassing shit on various body parts, and Crowe had only looked more unimpressed.

But today was special day.

Dressed in nothing but boxers, Nyx gives a passing glance at his Kingsglaive uniform, hung by the door.

Not today.

Walking towards his closet, floorboards creaking underneath his weight, Nyx pulls out possibly the nicest thing he's ever owned.

Luna had been the one to pick it, really, since she was the one that was doing the planning. It was probably for the best— no one else had better taste than her, really.

"Do you like it?" She had asked, her expression hopeful, and something in Nyx had softened. "It was an absolute nightmare picking out the colors. Sometimes I fear that I will ruin everything. I choose a flavor of cake, I hire entertainers, and then next morning I cannot understand why I would ever pre-order magnolias instead of roses, or why the guest list has over 300 people on it."

"Sounds awful," Nyx had offered. "But yeah, it's fine. Anything you choose is fine, really. Just don't overwork yourself, bride-to-be."

When Luna smiles, really smiles, not the one she shows to the crowds, the sheer force behind it blows Nyx away every single time. And Luna had done just that back, given Nyx a fond look. "I knew I had picked you for a reason," She had said.

Nyx dresses himself, bottom up.

Here is an interesting fact: he has no mirrors in his apartment. He's long since forcibly removed the one in his bathroom.

Today is a special day. No uniform, no weapons. He's not on duty— Pelna will be covering for him.

Today is a wedding.

Nyx doesn't believe in soulmates.

Luna is his soulmate, and he loves her. He sees her words written on his skin, dainty and dancing, fading as she writes more and more and Nyx's arm is smudged in black ink. (She always writes. She never stops writing.) But that's not why. He loves her because she is a strong-willed woman who's always tried to do her best, who cares for her friends and family and country. More than anything else, she cares, and Nyx can't help but care back.

She's beautiful in the way she speaks, iron behind every statement, beautiful in the way she walks, as if no one will ever be able to stop her. Being his soulmate— that has nothing to with it, has nothing to do with anything at all.

He catches a glimpse of his arm before the sleeves cover it, sees Luna write, _Are you ready?_

As ready as he'll ever be, at this point.

Today is a wedding, and it's in the Citadel, but the festivities line every street of the Crown City. Nyx finds himself wishing he had brought his knives with him after all, so he can warp straight to his destination.

When he finally gets there, Iris Amicitia is shooing everyone away from Luna's temporary chambers. "Get out, get out! No one's allowed to see the bride until the actual wedding, you hear me? Yes, even you! I mean it, her outfit is seriously fantastic and no one is going to spoil this on watch. You!" She points at Nyx. "Get out of here. Go look nice somewhere else."

In hindsight, Nyx will realize that he must have sounded pretty upset. He'll apologize to Iris later, after the wedding is over, and she'll be slightly flustered but accept his apology with good grace, but at the moment, he stands as stiff as board and speaks quietly, deadly calm. "I need to speak to Luna right now. Alone."

(Later, when the church bells are ringing and Luna is walking down the aisle, she'll have a slight shake to her stride, and her eyes will be just the slightest bit unfocused, and Nyx will curse himself for his lack of foresight. She's getting married, for Astral's sake, what kind of idiot is he to say such things to her right before?)

"You look beautiful," Nyx breathes out, Luna turns around in surprise, and yes, she looks breathtaking.

"Nyx," Luna says in surprise. "I had thought Iris was still chasing people away."

"She is. But, before you do this— before we do this, I have some stuff I need to say."

Luna's wedding dress covers up a lot of skin. It is relatively modest, as far as dresses go, but an interesting quirk about it is that while her primary arm is covered, it reveals her other entirely.

Luna has always held out the ink on her arm proudly, for the world to see, to show everyone that she loves, and she loves with no shame. Nyx has never begrudged for it, and he never will.

 _Are you ready?_ He can still read on her arm, matching the penmanship on his.

(Later, Nyx will be looking at videos of the wedding, how the cameras train in on the bride and groom's uncovered arms, and the marks there.)

Nyx lets out a breath, and carefully rolls up his sleeve.

(Later, when no one's looking, and all is quiet in the dark of the night, Nyx might cry a little. Just a little though, because he's not sad.)

He can see it on her face that she doesn't understand. Confusion is etched into her brow, and she cocks her head in bewilderment, until understanding suddenly flashes, lighting up her blue eyes.

 _Are you ready?_ His arm reads.

("Sounds awful," Nyx had offered. "But yeah, it's fine. Anything you choose is fine, really. Just don't overwork yourself, bride-to-be."

Luna had smiled. "I knew I had picked you for a reason, man of honor.")

A long time ago, Nyx used to like mirrors. He used to chatter on and on about when his soulmate would be born, and how wonderful it would be to exchange secret words with them, just for the two of them. He would doodle on his legs and arm every chance he got, waiting for the day his soulmate would write something back.

A long time ago, Nyx had looked down, his heart thumping in excitement as he read, _What is your name?_ In a child's scrawl, painstakingly spelled out.

He had fumbled for the nearest pen, ready to scribble out _Nyx Ulric_. His name was Nyx Ulric, and he was—

But new words were already forming. _Hello, Noctis._ It said. _I am Lunafreya, of Tenebrae._

And then, suddenly, nothing was the same.

Well, none of this important now, he supposes. Today is a special day, and Luna looks at him, wide-eyed and scared, and her arm reads, _Are you ready?_ And below that, in the Lucian prince's scrawl.

 _As ready as I'll ever be, I guess._

 _Are you ready?_ Nyx's arm reads, like an unanswered question that sours in the air, with a response that he will never be able to give.

"You," And Luna stops, then starts again. "You never told me."

It's not said like an accusation, but it stings nevertheless. Nyx resists the urge to wince. Instead, he looks straight at her, because she deserves everything. Lowering his arm, he manages to croak out, "How do you tell someone you love them, when you know they've been in love with someone else all their life?"

Luna's entire love story has been recorded on his arm, years and years of exchanging words, bridging the gap between Tenebrae and Lucis. Each word is written with a purpose, with a million feelings and sentiments behind each phrase.

 _I love you_ , Luna writes too many times, and Nyx destroys his mirrors, covers himself in clothing.

For years he does this, because it hurts to see words that are meant so whole-heartedly, yet none of it is for him. He's ashamed, because he isn't worthy of being loved by the one who should love him most, and he's hurt, wounded, and each ink splatter is like another stab.

And then he finally meets Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, and then suddenly, nothing is the same.

"I'm _sorry,"_ Luna whispers, horrified, and her eyes start to tear up. "If I had known, I would not have— I am so sorry, Nyx, everything I wrote was—"

"Hey," Nyx says gently, wipes away her tears. "You're going to ruin your makeup if you keep this up."

"And whose fault do you think that is?" Luna returns, with no bite.

"I'm only here to say one thing," And Nyx took both of her hands, held them carefully, because he knew they weren't his to hold. "I love you and I'm in love with you, and I think you're an amazing woman that deserves everything. I know I can't give you what you want, not by myself. So go out there and get married, and don't let anyone get in your way. Not me, not Noctis, and definitely not yourself."

Nyx doesn't believe in soulmates. It's a conclusion he's come up with after years of self-doubt, self-pity, and shame. He doesn't love Luna because she's his soulmate, he loves her because she _is,_ and she _becomes_. She is someone, not just neat cursive in black ink, and she has wants and needs and Nyx has his own place in it all.

These days, Nyx doesn't spend time looking at his arm. He covers it up with his Kingsglaive uniform, dedicates his life to protecting the Lucian line, and removes his mirrors. The words aren't for him, and they weren't ever meant for him.

Luna is in love with Noctis, and she is happy with him. Nyx can live with that. If he cries later, in the quiet of his apartment, it's only a little, because he's not sad. He's happy, because someone very dear to him has just gotten married, and they've got their happy ever after.

He places a chaste kiss on her forehead. "I'll leave you to your preparations then," He says, and starts to head towards the door, recovering his arm. "We'll talk more about this after."

"I love you too," Luna says in response, and Nyx finally gets what he was looking for, after all those years of _I love you_ s to the wrong man.

"I know," He laughs. "That's why I'm the man of honor, right? See you at the altar, bride-to-be."

Later, Nyx will be looking at videos of the wedding, how the cameras train in on the bride and groom's uncovered arms, and the marks there.

And he'll watch it over again, the segment where the painstakingly written words are shown to the world, where Noctis' neatest print asks in large, bold script, _Will you marry me?_

And then in response, Luna's best penmanship, three letters.


End file.
